


I'll Fall For You, As Many Times as the Universe Allows

by anarchycox



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Banter, Confusion, Happy Ending, Logic, M/M, Snark, fluffy happy sex scene, geralt is exasperated no matter the century, i don't know her, know it all jaskier, no magic, pure unadulterated fall in love in a week rom com, rom com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Jaskier runs a bardcore channel on the continent's equivalent of youtube and has a chance to be a host of a show on the history channel. He is to go to a reenactment hotel, film some stuff, and maybe he'll have an incredible job. And he is beyond thrilled because they are sending him to Kaer Morhen - the fabled home of the once great wolf witchers, a class of warriors that he read stories about as a child.Only the keep is a bad medieval times wannabe and it is worse that finding out Santa Claus isn't real. The only authentic thing seems to be the actor playing Geralt of Rivia. He is authentic, like super authentic, like super holy wow authentic.What happens when a social media minor celebrity meets a man from the thirteenth century? Why true love of course.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 212
Kudos: 349
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was incredibly blessed and privileged to write a story for art by Linx1457, and I hope that you give their work all the love in the world, and that you enjoy this tale.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jaskier?”

“Shhhhh,” Jaskier hissed. He glared when the overhead lights went on. “I am busy.”

“Is that a…what is that?”

“I am trying to lay a curse on Valdo Marx. I saw it on a documentary.”

“Is that why you have funko pops of those monster hunter characters from that telly show surrounding the pentagram?” Priscilla seemed unimpressed and Jaskier thought it was a pretty damn good pentagram.

Jaskier just hissed again, and lit some of the black candles. “I call to old gods and new ones, ones of theatre, and poetics, and internet connectivity. I am a loyal and true servant to you all, and beseech thee. An interloper is muddying the waters of true art and grace, and must be dealt with. I sacrifice this! A t-shirt from the first tour of the great troubadours The Three Fiends, in your honour I desecrate this holy object - hey I was going to desecrate that,” Jaskier glared at Priscilla. “The gods need a sacrifice.”

He tried to stop her from blowing out the candles, but she smacked him out of her way. “Jaskier, what the fuck? Zoltan! Weren’t you watching his caffeine intake?”

“I’m thirty, I can drink as much bloody coffee as I want to.”

“How many?”

“Four cups.”

“And?”

“An energy drink. And a fizzy cola.”

“Jesus, all because Valdo had that write up in that rock magazine?”

Jaskier blinked. “He had a what now?”

“Shit, Priscilla, I wasn’t telling him about that,” Zoltan lumbered in. “Here, lute all fixed, Dandelion.”

Jaskier glared at them. “Tell me it was an indie magazine that is sold in college bookstores.”

“Sure, I can tell you that,” Priscilla nodded.

Jaskier nodded, “Let me curse the man.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Jaskier reached for the lighter, but Priscilla got to it and stuck in it her bra. “I will go in after it,” he warned.

“And you’ll lose a hand doing so,” she countered. “He got the write up exactly where you think. And it is no big deal.”

“No big deal! I started this! I am clearly the person who got the whole bardcore thing going online, I have built it for three years, and right when it is really starting to gain traction -”

“You have a show in development with the history network, a successful online channel with a consistent audience, a small press book of poetry, and run an open mic night at your favourite coffee shop?”

“Yes, but he is all flashy! He had that go viral and now everybody wants to interview and play with Valdo.” Jaskier spit as he said the man’s name a bit. “It’s because he full gimmicks it, with the stupid bard costume that isn’t even historically accurate. You can see the zippers!!!” He saw the look that Priscilla and Zoltan exchanged. “I am not obsessing.” He moved so that he was standing in front of the pentagram. “I am not being overly dramatic.”

“Mmhmm,” Priscilla nodded. “You mixing the latest song?”

“I am,” Jaskier agreed. He cleared up the ritual stuff and when Priscilla held up the rubbish bin, he dumped everything in it. He could fish out the funkos later. “Here, listen to the mid tones for me.” They spent a few hours working on getting the mix right for the song, while Zoltan answered emails, checked their merch sales, and everything else that Zoltan did to make their online channel successful. Jaskier sank into work and was able to forget about Valdo for a few hours. They ate and Jaskier went into the recording booth, worked on the arrangement for the latest pop song turned bardic and then once he was happy, he settled in and played a few traditional medieval songs. They occasionally put up videos of those but they weren’t exactly popular. Priscilla had suggested that he should do the reverse - make the old songs modern, but he wasn’t sure about it.

He saw Zoltan wave to him, a man he didn’t recognize next to him. Jaskier came out of the booth. “Hello,” he smiled and held out his hand.

“Mr. Pankratz, hello. I am Dijkstra, I am one of the producers for your potential show.”

“Yes, I’ve seen your name on several emails.”

“We came up with an idea and we think there is potential in it, for you, and the show we are building.”

“Oh?”

“Reenactment.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We think as a component of your show, we would send you to reenactments, ren faires, LARPing events, other whatevers of that sort. You have a masters in history -”

“In music history,” Jaskier said, “and I don’t understand. Like a travelogue?”

“Yes,” the man smiled, and honestly that was not a smile that Jaskier trusted. “We’ve watched your three videos where you went out in the world, talking about bardic tradition, they were your best videos.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jaskier was honestly surprised at that. “I do enjoy making them, but like five people watched them.”

“We think you doing that, could be an interesting part of the show. And in fact, we just received word of a place in the far north. An old medieval keep that promises an authentic experience - but not so authentic that you have to shit in a hole - to appeal to any person who has ever wanted to embrace the chivalric era.”

Jaskier had to admit he was incredibly intrigued. “What keep, maybe I have heard of it.”

“Kaer Morhen,” Dijkstra replied, and Jaskier gasped. “You’ve heard of it.”

“Of course I have! One of the famed ‘witcher’ clans, the clans of the north that held off the Nilfgaardian invasion and kept Temeria and the north free? My honours thesis was on the songs of the witchers. And Kaer Morhen is now a tourist trap?” Jaskier almost clapped in glee. “Kaer Morhen is full out medieval timesing it up and I can go?”

“We’ve arranged a stay for you, a ten day visit, their silver package, so you’ll have some perks but we don’t break the bank before we know you are actually worth it. We want you to write up a full report on the experience and what you would do if you were filming it, maybe even a vlog or two. Don’t publish them, but take them and I’ll watch them, and then we’ll go from there.”

“I can definitely do that,” Jaskier said.

“Excellent, you leave in three days.”

“So fast? But my work -”

“Radovid, another producer for the channel was talking about how we should approach Valdo Marx,” Dijkstra said, and the whole team froze. “Sending him to the music festival in Toussaint, on a similar gambit as what I am giving you here. I prefer you, you are an understandable bit of bullshit because you actually believe in all this crap. So, make sure you impress me. I don’t like it when Radovid wins.” Dijkstra handed him a file folder. “Have fun, Mr. Pankratz and make sure you enjoy the experience. It only is your whole future in the balance.”

Jaskier didn’t open the file until the man was gone. There was a coach plane ticket, a reservation number and a brochure outlining the all new experience that was to be found in the walls of Kaer Morhen. He sat and read everything, didn’t even register that he was humming the ancient song The ballad of the white wolf. Fuck, Kaer Morhen, he had done so much research, but there was little to be found, a fire had burned much of the keep in the late thirteenth century, destroying an incredible amount of records and history. The place had a history of repair and neglect, but it looked like it was finally seen to properly.

And he was going to go there. “Kaer Morhen,” he breathed out. He smelled burning and looked up.

Jaskier smiled as he saw Priscilla and Zoltan had put the bullshit curse back together and were trying to visit boils and flat pitch on Valdo. “Looks like I am going on an adventure. I’ll need to pack my lute.”

“Did you mean that to sound like an innuendo?” Priscilla asked.

Zoltan snorted. “Of course Dandelion did.”

“Not at all, I am sure at Kaer Morhen there will be a great deal of inspiration to be found.”

Priscilla picked up the pamphlet and was looking at the pictures. “There are going to be men in kilts. Very inspiring.”

“Oh, are there? I of course care about the history I will immerse myself in, and the job that will come about because of this.” Jaskier took a few deep breaths. “Well, if I am leaving in three days, we have a lot of work to do.” He grinned at them. “I do believe I need another coffee.” He had to admit he almost appreciated their commitment to him not having a caffeine based heart attack as Zoltan tackled him and Priscilla smashed the glass carafe into the rubbish bin.


	3. Chapter 3

“In the times that are now legend and myth, the keep of Kaer Moron was a grand fortress in the north,” Jaskier said. No, that was bollocks. “There are stories of the heroes of Kaer Moron, ones that children are told at bedtime, that they never truly forget.” Well that was bullshit, because unless your parents were a very specific sort of nerd, you had no real clue about Kaer Morhen.

His parents had been exactly that sort of very specific nerd, and he knew all about the long and mostly forgotten warrior clans called Witchers. He smiled a bit and held up his phone and started to record. “Once upon a time, the north was considered a magical land. Mostly because it was bloody freezing and no one wanted to go there, so they said sorceresses and dragons roamed the lands, and that the ones who kept the monsters at bay were the Witcher clans. Bear, cat, griffin, and at Kaer Morhen - it was the wolves. Now, we all know that magic and dragons are complete bullshit, but it was what people believed. In reality from what we can piece together through very thin and scattered accounts and records, is that the wolves were both men of action and men of science. And to the average person, science would have looked like alchemy. What we do have left though, is song. Toss a coin to your witcher,” Jaskier sang the medieval ballad, though he knew he was on the wrong beat for a thirteenth century song.

“Place is haunted,” the driver interrupted.

“I’m sorry?” Jaskier immediately hit the button so the camera now faced the driver. “Haunted?”

“Yup,” he nodded seriously. “They won’t mention it, don’t want to scare the tourists, but it is haunted.”

“How do you know?”

“Can’t have a place with that much history of pain and breaking, and not be haunted.”

Jaskier had to admit that was a fair point. “Who haunts it? Have people seen actual ghosts?”

“Workers in the restoration complained of hearing the sound of metal against metal, as if a battle was raging. Put things down and when you went back they were in a different place. A breath on the back of your neck in certain spaces.”

Fuck, yes. Jaskier tried not to bounce. This was the exact sort of shit that they could build a show on. Ghosts at a reenactment place. Dijkstra would shit gold coins. He didn’t really believe it - because come on, ghosts? But it would be great storytelling. “You are from the north?”

“Family has lived in this area for four hundred years or so - newcomers really.”

Jaskier leaned forward. “Four hundred years, and you are still considered newcomers?”

“It is in the north, if your family didn’t live here a thousand years ago, you are a newcomer.” The man laughed a bit. “Things are crazy up here. You’re from Novigrad?”

“I am,” Jaskier agreed. “The whole live like the heyday of Kaer Morhen thing is new right?”

“Restoration cost almost double what they expected, so they came up with the idea. Not a bad one. People like to pay for that sort of shit.”

Jaskier snorted. He loved this guy.

“Uh, not that it is shit. It is the experience of a lifetime, several in fact with how you will feel transported so completely into the past, with the clothes and food, and activities that you will enjoy on your magical retreat to the north.”

He was buying this man at least five drinks while he was here. “Did they at least do a decent job on the restoration?”

“If you are still recording - absolutely.”

Jaskier immediately turned off his phone. “And if I’m not recording?”

“So I don’t actually care about history. My second form grade reports will tell you that. And it looks like they tried. But I dunno, don’t feel old anymore? Like they put too much sheen on the bones. Or it is old, but like botoxed all to hell and back. That’s it - it is buildings that had that one too many facelifts. Not classy face lifts, the ones where you are like oooh no that just ain’t right. Like when a 50 year old has the tits up to her neck. The building looks like that.”

Correction, he was buying this man a dozen drinks. And maybe seeing if they could get him a job and Jaskier’s driver on the show. “Are there any spots they let be?”

“Yup, a tower, some other spots - places there were still fairly intact so like historic preservation society got all up on them about not touching the spots even just to ‘freshen them up’ a bit. I like those spots. Haunted, but comforting. That makes sense? Passage of time, inevitably of life and all that shit.”

Forget drinks, he was marrying this man. “I do understand. What is your name by the way?”

“Vernon, sir. Have fun, and the experience of several lifetimes.”

“Vernon, is there a tavern I can buy you a drink at?”

“Wife Ves, said I’m not allowed to bring anymore strays home.”

“I love you,” Jaskier replied. “Just want to pick your brain for some local colour.”

“Can do that I suppose. And here we are.” 

“Oh god, they did hitch the tits up too far,” Jaskier was almost impressed. “I went to one of those Medieval times dinner castles that are practically just mdf and foam, and it almost looked better than this.” He was so disappointed - it was supposed to be legendary and it looked, “Cheap.”

Vernon snorted, “Trust me, the one thing it isn’t - is cheap.” He went to the boot and pulled out Jaskier’s couple bags. “Right well, enjoy!”

“Thanks, and I am serious about that drink.” The man nodded and the car went back down the road that was almost too narrow for two cars to go by each other. Jaskier took a few photos and tried not to be disappointed. But it made sense to make a facade that looked like how people expected medieval things to look. It didn’t matter, he was at Kaer Morhen and it would be amazing.

*

“Priscilla, if I were to kill the owners for crimes against history and taste - no jury would convict me right?” Jaskier was flopped on the bed in his room, which looked like it belonged in an 17th century brothel. “They didn’t even open a book!”

“Oh no,” Priscilla replied. “The horror. The horror.”

“THEY RUINED A PLACE I HAVE DREAMED OF SINCE I WAS FOUR.” Jaskier shouted. “It is Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen, Priscilla, and they made it yucky. And what they have done to me.”

“Has someone hurt you?”

“So they gave all the guests roles, and I was given bard - clearly.”

“Clearly.”

“The clothes are polyester and have zippers,” he whined, “which fine I could endure that. I could. You know how stoically and nobly I endure the trials and tribulations that befall me. Grace and dignity, like I was raised in.” He waited for her to stop choking on the air she had sucked in at the words. “Priscilla they have me, as a medieval bard -” he almost couldn’t even say it, but he would so his best friend could support his suffering. “IN ALL BLACK.” He waited for the shock and outrage. Maybe a bit of crying. But there was nothing.

Actually a great deal of nothing. It took longer than he would have liked for him to realize that she had hung up on him. 

“Fine,” he snapped. He went to the wardrobe and dug through his bag. Zoltan had slipped in shorts and a rather loud Tropical shirt with the flowers of the south of Toussaint splattered all over it. Vacation, tourist clothes, and fuck it they were more authentic to what a medieval bard would have worn than what they put him in. He left his room, which was very comfortable, just complete bullshit. He wandered a bit and heard someone calling that it was time for games.

He was an extrovert and loved people and games, but no, he just couldn’t. Jaskier believed in strategic retreats from bored housewives bedrooms, crowds that went south, and a cheerful person shouting ‘medieval games were so droll.’ Jaskier wound his way through the gardens and to the half of Kaer Morhen they were warned was a mix of preservation property and under construction. And someone had left the lock open on the door. Well really, that was clearly an invitation to Jaskier. He stepped through and could have wept.

Jaskier took out his phone and whispered, “Mama,” as he took photos of the area, in surprisingly decent condition in spots. A tower almost untouched beyond bleached by rain and sun, an outer wall intact, and then in spots. He would have to bring her here one day, as she was the one who told him all the stories, took him to museums to see the history of the witchers. “Oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty,” Jaskier sang as he decided to go explore the tower. 

“Save me from that foolish song,” a voice said. “I hear it far too many moon cycles.”

Jaskier frowned, “Few know that song unless they watch my channel,” he turned and blinked. “Holy fuck, the White Wolf.” He stumbled back, and sat on the stone steps. “Holy fucking Melitele, you are the bloody White Wolf.”

There was a groan, and the man went to a weapons stand and picked up a really giant fucking sword. “That detestable name,” he cried, and then started to spin with the sword a bit. “Why must it haunt me?”

Jaskier watched the kilt flare as the man spun, and he caught a glimpse of strong thigh, and almost a bit of ass. But he focused mainly on the face. There were no paintings, barely even descriptions of those who had been of the witcher clans. It was all about their deeds and prowess in battle and science. But the white wolf was described a bit. Long white hair, yellow eyes, raspy voice. It was the fucking white wolf.

This, this is where the company did well - hiring an actor to portray the greatest legend of the keep. Probably a surprise for the big tournament party in a couple days. Brilliant. He wasn’t mad anymore at the absurdity of the event. Not when they went to this trouble. He took some video on his phone of the man. “You don’t like Toss a Coin. Do you have a song you do like?”

“Fishmonger is amusing.”

Jaskier nodded and began to sing it, and the man continued to dance and spin with his swords. It was so mesmerizing and so almost accurate, this actor had clearly done his homework. “A reverse hold like that is not how it is done. Good for flourishes but in battle -”

“I think I know what I am about in battle, sir -”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied. “Jaskier Pankratz.”

“Lettenhove?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“The Pankratz name took the seat a score ago, in bloody manner,” the white wolf replied.

“No it was gifted to the family by the royal family of Cintra for deeds to the crown.”

“Yes, beheading people is a deed to Calanthe.”

Damn, this guy really had done his history lessons. “Calanthe is a gravely misunderstood ruler,” Jaskier couldn’t help himself. “She -”

“Was a bitch,” the white wolf replied, “But a fair hand with a sword. Which I am holding correctly.”

“It isn’t authentic.”

There was a flourish, and the blade was at his neck. “Seems authentic enough doesn’t it?”

“Those are really great contacts,” was all Jaskier said. He had once worn red ones to be a vampire for a party, and they had killed his eyes. “They really have you all in on the white wolf thing. Finally something properly done here.”

“Geralt,” he replied. “Are you a visitor to Kaer Morhen? From…the south? Does that explain your foolish attire?”

“Yup, sure,” Jaskier beamed. Finally, finally this was looking worth it. “You knew Geralt. Few do. Awesome. This is going to be so much better than I was starting to worry about.”

“Even in summer, nights grow cool here, bard. Seek your bed.”

“How did you know I was a bard?”

“Only a bard dresses so loudly.”

“Thank you! I tried to tell them the all black was bullshit,” Jaskier waved a hand. “Think you could tell the bosses that?”

“I can tell Vesemir many things. Seek your rest.” The man disappeared into the tower and oh ho, that explained in part why this section was barred away - it was where staff was sleeping. Rude that staff got the real tower, and he was stuck in fantasy land. 

But at least things were finally looking up.


	4. Chapter 4

He was on a fucking nature hike. That was the point he had been driven to, a nature hike. But the owner had ferreted out information from Jaskier, and now that he knew this was a potential place for filming his maybe future show, the man was all over him, and being creepy as fuck. Jaskier had resorted to an actual nature hike to ditch the man who kept up selling the place. Sure, he appreciated the room upgrade, but it was still all fairly cheap and crass and Kaer Morhen deserved better dammit.

So, now he was on a nature hike with perhaps a lute stolen from the hallway, since he had ended up not packing his. He found what he supposed was an idyllic place to stop, and sat on the dirt. He looked out and okay fine, it was all pretty and shit, mountains, isolation. “Yodel Ey hee,” he called out and listened to the words hang in the air. “Weird,” he muttered and tuned the lute. Poor thing had been put out for show, and was hurting. “It’s okay, sweet thing, we’ll see you right,” he crooned to the wood and strings. He tuned by ear and it took a while. It was a wonder the neck hadn’t snapped from the over tension it had been held at. “There we go,” he said and strummed, “isn’t that better?” He didn’t aim for anything in particular, just something melodic. He hummed along and all he could think was fuck, he bet he looked handsome and wished Priscilla was there to take some photos of him.

He sang a little a bit from songs he had written, sad ones. He didn’t know why he was singing the sad stuff, but there he was. He heard footsteps and looked over. It was that man playing the white wolf. He was surprised that the man hadn’t been broken out yet, but the big event was tomorrow, so Jaskier supposed that was when all the guests would see him. “Hello,” Jaskier called. The man sort of grunted, and kept moving past him. “A favour, please?”

Geralt stopped, and raised a brow clearly impatient but he had been likely told be good to Jaskier to help for the future.

“I need you to take some photos of me,” Jaskier said. “Brilliant for the socials.”

“I understood little of that.”

“Oooh keeping it authentic, lovely. But seriously, this is the sort of natural light people commit murder for.” Jaskier fished his phone out of his pocket, and unlocked it. He tossed it to Geralt. “There you go, just a few.” 

The man had caught it, and was staring at it. “You aren’t familiar with the brand? Just tap the white circle.” Jaskier waited but he kept just staring at the phone. “Chop chop, or it will lock out again.” Good lord, was the man a bit thick. “Problem?” He smiled politely, well at least the man was gorgeous. “Just a few.” Jaskier bent his head contemplatively. He knew his angles.

“I see your visage on this. Is it a mirror?” 

“Oh you are going full method I see, well that is a choice. I suppose I understand it when you are around the others, or will be. But just us here, so you can drop the act.”

“I have not seen the like of this before.”

“It is the newest gen. Need it for work,” Jaskier said. “Are you going to take the photos?” He watched Geralt stab his finger at the screen a few times. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I have done as you asked,” the man replied and tossed the phone back at him. He continued on his walk. 

“Where are you going?”

“The old settlement. The first land of the wolves.” He was pressing on almost around a corner before the words registered for Jaskier.

“Holy fuck,” Jaskier shouted. He bolted after the actor. That was an actual thing? Melitele fuck, please let that be a thing. He caught up to the actor who sort of growled at him, but he ignored that. The first settlement, if it was real. He was going to see the first home of the witchers.

And it was a pile of rock. He supposed it had been a small keep at some point but it was a pile of rock. “Bit anticlimactic.” He kicked a bit of stone and the man made a harsh noise in his throat. Jaskier held up his hands. “Sorry, just, not much left.”

“A lot was taken to build the newer keep,” he explained and moved through the stone. There was actually more left than Jaskier had first noticed. A bit of a stairwell, a wall and a small section of a second floor. 

Jaskier took some photos, because his father would adore them. He was actually surprised he didn’t see any markings of an archeological dig around. He couldn’t help himself and took a few more photos and then started poking around, summers spent at sites with his parents instilling eternal curiosity in him. “Why are we here?”

“I am here to meditate, you are here because you followed me.”

Sure enough, Geralt knelt in a spot and seemed to entirely forget that Jaskier was there. He wondered if this was the actor centering himself for his role? Absorbing the witcher vibes. It was brilliant. He took a few photos and sent them to Priscilla. 

_ Hot _ , she replied.

/Actor playing the white wolf. Super method for a shit show place like this./

_ So you are going to fuck him. _

/Probably/. He smiled at the emojis that Priscilla sent back. He wandered the space while the actor meditated, and he seemed to actually be doing it. Jaskier was impressed that the stone under his bare knees wasn’t hurting the man. Jaskier sat on the wall, and began to sing an old song that they believed was a battle hymn. 

“You have the words wrong,” Geralt said.

“I do not,” Jaskier made a face. “My degree is in this, and I think I know it better than you.”

“Those are the words of the version from Nilfgaard, do not sing them here.”

Oh. “The witchers were opposed to Nilfgaard.”

“We are opposed to tyranny, to oppression masked as freedom. Nilfgaard is vile and we will beat them back again, just as we have done before. They will not take the free north.”

So bloody in character, and solid research to know there were two incursions. After this whole thing, he was desperate to interview the man. “Nilfgaard has a bloody history,” Jaskier agreed. “I read a fair bit about a general of theirs. Cahir. Intriguing man.” 

“He is…unique,” Geralt replied. “History will paint him a villain, I am sure. But he is more complex than that.”

“Not many agree with that,” Jaskier beamed. “He committed atrocities.”

“He did, and he helped me save my daughter. That earns him some…forgiveness in my mind.”

Wait, what? That was wrong. He was a little disappointed. “The white wolf has no children,” Jaskier gently said.

The man tilted his head. “Really? I don’t know if I have children or not? Interesting.” He started walking.

“I have read every accounting of the white wolf, and I think I would know better than you.” He was a bloody historian. Sort of. He was trained as one, anyways. Sort of. The point was no thick thighed actor knew the stories better than him. “There is not a single mention of the white wolf having a son.”

“She might prefer wearing trousers to dresses, but I am fairly certain Ciri is not a boy.”

“Ciri?”

“Bard, why are you here?” Geralt stopped and was looking at him. “Who bid you come? Vesemir, Lambert as a weird sort of joke?”

Jaskier blinked. “You know who Lambert is?”

“I wish I didn’t, but yes, of course I know my brother.”

“No one, fucking no one remembers Lambert,” Jaskier shook his head. “In the records that are left, there are precisely two mentions left of him. Marginalia almost. And you know that? I have to admit, I am impressed. Like really impressed.” The man was looking at him like he was mad. “What?”

“You are an odd one, surprised that I know the man I broke my fast with this morning.” Geralt shook his head and continued on. Jaskier chased after him but no matter what he tried, the man seemed to be done talking with him. He was headed to that off limits tower again, and Jaskier was eager to see inside it. But the damn owner was there, and thrilled to see him. 

Yipee.

“The man you hired to play the white wolf, he really knows his stuff.” Jaskier said.

“The man?” the owner shook his head. “Verily we are all from the time of yore, what is this actor you speak of?”

Gods save him. “Of course, of course. I look forward to the tournament tomorrow,” Jaskier said.

“Excellent, excellent. And perhaps we could persuade you to sing at it a bit?” The man launched into a lot of flattery which was patently bullshit, but Jaskier always soaked up any praise even if he knew it was crap. He agreed to perform a couple songs and excused himself to his room. He sent an email to his mother asking about a Ciri in relation to the white wolf. She’d maybe remember she had email if she wasn’t lost in a few books. 

Jaskier flopped on the bed, bored by the trip itself, but fascinated by the actor who seemed to know even more about the wolf clan that Jaskier did.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier woke up and he was a little bit excited because today was the big festival day, the day everyone met the white wolf. And there would be lots of men in general ‘proving their worth’ in the ‘contests of strength and agility.’ The formal invitation slipped under the door in the night was actually rather appalling in its faux illuminated lettering, but he was still excited and his silver package meant that he’d have a decent seat for the events. 

He had also agreed to sing a bit. A crowd was a crowd. He looked at the clothes he had been given for the day, and they were still cheap, but at least in bright colours. Jaskier actually didn’t hate the doublet, it had to be said. He dressed, though under the doublet he did put on an old band shirt from the summer he had worked as a roadie. He dug through his bag and found the pink heart shaped sunglass that had been Priscilla’s, and thought they rather finished off the look. He strapped the lute to his back and headed downstairs.

Breakfast was ready and he ate and chatted with a couple of the other guests. Everyone was eager for the day and the promised games and events. The owner greeted them all with just the worst dialogue ever - language a few centuries after the hey day of Kaer Morhen. Melitele, was the guy playing the white wolf the only one who had done any research at all? A schedule was posted and Jaskier saw himself on it after the lunch picnic, and before the sword fighting tournament. Not a bad spot to sing a few songs. He took a photo of the schedule and went outside. He filmed a bit of them preparing the field for the events, and couldn’t help but give a bit of history on this type of event.

“You know much about tournaments?”

Jaskier looked over and saw Geralt. “A fair bit. There is no record of the white wolf winning any though.”

“Of course not. I didn’t play at war like this, I was too busy fighting it.” Geralt shook his head. “The joust has always seemed so foolish to me. I’ve fought astride a horse countless times, but it has never been thus.”

“It is a test of balance and aim and -”

“Can injure a horse for man’s vanity. Such games are foolish. And I do not partake.”

“Uhh, don’t you have to? Won’t the owner fire you if you don’t?” Jaskier looked around a bit. “Geralt?”

“Yes?” Geralt was standing there patiently waiting. Fuck, he was so damn gorgeous. Historical accounts mentioned that he was considered ugly by some, beautiful by others, though he was supposed to be a bit more scarred than the man in front of him. 

“Is this your only gig or do you do like the ren faire circuit?” 

“I travel much, such is the path of a Witcher. Though, I will stay closer to home until Ciri is ready to fight at my side.”

The man had this faint smile on his face. Hope. Jaskier realized that was a hopeful smile.

“My mother sent me a message, she doesn’t know a Ciri, and trust me she would.”

“We have hidden her well. Nilfgaard wants her and I will not let them take her. I have a promise to keep.”

“Look, this is great and all, and I am really looking forward to watching you fight later, because hello arms. But come on, you cannot stand there and suggest that you somehow know more than me about Geralt.”

“I think I know more about myself than anything a bard has garnered from others of his ilk. They are a bunch with a loose interpretation of truth.” There was a sly wink along with that, and it was too much and stung at Jaskier’s pride because he knew more than this man dammit. 

“Come with me,” he ordered. He stalked into the keep, turning a few corners until they were in the library. He turned and Geralt was pale, confused. “Geralt?” He wasn’t looking good. “I’m sorry, I know that seemed aggressive but -”

“This is not where the library is, why is it where Lambert has his still?”

“Kaer Morhen’s library was one of the sections lost in the fire,” Jaskier replied. “And there were never schematics, likely lost in that blaze, so they guessed based on other keeps where the library might be. It was logical.”

“And that is why our library was elsewhere. Is elsewhere.” Geralt spun around. “What have you done?”

“What have I done? I haven’t done fuck all,” Jaskier said. “Why do you think I did something?”

“You are out of place, I asked Vesemir last night about the bard visiting Kaer Morhen, and he said there was no such man.”

“Okay, look I know the cab driver said the place was haunted and like maybe this is a weird performance gambit, but it is not working. Honestly you are decent, but you aren’t that good an actor.”

“Stop with the confounding words,” Geralt snapped. “This is a mirage. I will take you to the library and you will see. Your tricks like that little box you carry, will be proven to be just that - tricks, and I will run you through.” Jaskier found his hand grasped and they were off, almost running. They went into the area they weren’t supposed to be in, and past the tower that he had seen Geralt go into a couple of times. They moved and then Geralt just stopped. It was one of the completely destroyed areas of Kaer Morhen, a section that they couldn’t even begin to restore. “I learned how to read here.” He moved a few paces forward. “Last night, Ciri and I sat a table right here, and I worked on her Beauclarize. She has a dreadful accent, too much time focused on the tongues of Skellige. It hardens the vocal chords in particular ways.” 

“Geralt, there is no Ciri. I’m sorry, I am impressed that you are trying to -” Jaskier took a step back as Geralt glared at him. His eyes that looked like honey usually looked like the fires of the pit now. “There is no historical record of a wolf witcher called Ciri.”

“Of course not, she is barely four and ten.” Geralt’s hands were fists, and Jaskier debated running. “In these historical records you keep mentioning is there A Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon?”

“The Empress of Nilfgaard, of course there fucking is!” Jaskier shouted. “Who doesn’t know about Empress Fiona? She finally put an end to all the wars of Nilfgaard, brought forth an era of education, innovation, trade. She created the golden age of knowledge until she died.”

“Died?”

“She ruled for almost fifty years, died in her sleep unless you believe the batshit theories that she was poisoned.”

“So he did claim her then, no matter how we all tried to protect her.” Geralt went and sat on a wall. “He claims her when? When does she take the throne?”

“When she was not yet twenty one, shortly after the…” Jaskier blinked, “Shortly after the fires that destroyed Kaer Morhen.” He looked at Geralt. “Did…no…you don’t know your history. Nilfgaard, no matter how hard they tried, never managed to press that far north. This is insane. You have gone way too method and I’m going to go now. Because you are writing one hell of a mythology, and hey maybe you can sell that script one day but I am so out.” Jaskier began to hurry away because that much hot didn’t matter in the face of what was clearly crazy.

“She doesn’t want to be an empress,” Geralt called, “All she wants is to be a witcher.”

“One of the greatest rulers the world has ever known, wanted to be a witcher, please.” Jaskier snorted a bit. “I’m going, going, gone.” He didn’t care about his dignity and just ran. Jaskier went to his room and paced a bit. He debated packing and running all the way back home, but if he did, he didn’t have enough for Dijkstra. And the show would be gone.

Jaskier sat on the bed and tried to meditate which went as shit as it ever did. 

When he decided to go back out, because no matter how much that actor freaked him out, he was not missing a chance to perform for people, he took a deep breath and willed himself out of his worries. The crowd applauded and he knew he wasn’t as good as he could have been, but it was still better than most could do, and he lost himself in the music and the old songs. 

The little fake tournament began, but there was no sign of the insane actor. He wondered if the manager realized the guy was batshit and fired him. It was fun enough, though absurdly inaccurate to history. And, oh lord, there was a feast where they ate with their hands, and he found himself unable to stop laughing. There was drinking and dancing after and the movements there definitely had no relation to anything medieval at all. 

Jaskier wondered honestly if the man he thought was a hired actor, was some sort of pressure hallucination. That his worries about the job, had taken the cab driver’s idea about ghosts and run with it far too much. He bet if he went to the restricted area now, knowing his subconscious had made it all up, that he’d find nothing there at all. It wasn’t a bad idea really just to confirm it was all in his head, and by the fourth glass of ‘mead,’ it was actually a really great idea.

Jaskier sneaked away from the revelry and slipped passed the no trespassing sign. He wandered around and there was no sign of the man. “Ha! I knew it, I’ve just gone completely off my rocker from stress!” He paused. “Oh, I’ve gone completely off my rocker from stress.” He went to where he had last seen Geralt, sure it would just be rubble, but no, of course the man was sitting there. “Well shit, I am completely mad. Great, just great. Well, lots of artists have been, and made a career out of it. No reason I can’t do the same.”

Jaskier went and sat down next to him. “I made you up, which actually is a bit impressive when you think about it. That, or you are a ghost.”

“No, it is a portal.”

“A what?”

“I have been sitting here thinking on it,” Geralt explained. “When I go into the tower, I am in the Kaer Morhen I know, with my family, my daughter. And when I step out, I am here, with you. In a time that I do not understand. The tower, or its door - it is a portal of some sort. But magic is not real, so I am at a bit of a loss as to why it is happening.”

“Honestly, I would prefer that to I’ve gone insane and am hallucinating a medieval folk hero,” Jaskier said. He looked down as he felt pressure on his hand. “Why are you holding my hand?”

“If I was fake, you wouldn’t feel that,” Geralt replied.

“Psychosomatic pain,” Jaskier shrugged, “brains make up weirder shit. Because otherwise you are suggesting time travel, which is completely fucking nuts.”

“You would rather be a madman, than faced with such an unknown?”

“Let me think about that for a moment….yup,” Jaskier nodded. “Tower’s are not time travel portals.”

“Prove me wrong, if you can step into it and return to your right here and now, then clearly I am just a creation of your mind. Or you don’t return to this moment in time, and I am proved right.”

“Sure,” Jaskier stood up, “I mean I am pretty sure that you are just bringing me into the tower to flay me alive and dance around in my skin, or you know just that part of my brain that broke telling me to go in there. But let’s do this.”

“I don’t dance,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. He giggled the small distance to the tower and watched Geralt open the door. He would have followed the man in, but it seemed that Geralt just…disappeared the moment he crossed the threshold. Jaskier tried to follow but some sort of force repelled him away. He fell on his ass and the door closed on its own.

He sat and stared and willed Geralt to come back, but the man didn’t. 

Jaskier stayed for a bit longer, until he convinced himself that yes he had made all of this up. He went back to the main area and went to his room. He pressed his thumb to his phone and was going to text Priscilla to book him an appointment with a therapist when he saw the photo of Geralt he had sent her. If it was made up in his head, there wouldn’t be photos of the man. 

He was real.

So back to an insane actor, instead of an insane bardcore vlogger.

Jaskier decided he would ignore the door he couldn’t walk through until morning, to save the sanity that he supposed he had after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier woke up and decided to just ignore the restricted area and that damned tower. He had a job to do here, which was to make sure that he left here with a job and he had been neglecting that a bit. He went down and ate some breakfast. While there he talked to a few of the other guests, a couple even on film. They were having a decent enough time, but it wasn’t quite what they had hoped the place would be. It was either too much or not enough of the history. It was fun but not all the way there fun, it was missing just a bit. No one could pinpoint it, but he understood well enough. There was no magic here. It was so close the sheer possibility of it - but it was stifled, papered over in faux medieval bullshit.

It was the ice cream you were promised, and then your parents forgot. 

He wandered around, made a few small videos and sent them along to Priscilla and Zoltan to clean up. She texted him about the actor with several suggestive emojis and he ignored that. He wasn’t thinking about the crazy man. He wandered around the keep and sang a bit and the magic of the place, the potential was almost there. And he was so lost in the music that he didn’t even realize that his feet had taken him past the door blocking the area off and right to the tower. He could smell something, a scent that he didn’t recognize at all, but when he tried to open the door it wouldn’t budge. Locked from the inside was all. Not some weird portal thing where it was about the white wolf getting a glimpse of the future, not about some social media almost celebrity going back.

Not that time travel was real.

Jaskier huffed and started to walk away, perhaps go into the hills, to the original Kaer Morhen site, and he would have, but Geralt was there, in that kilt, a damn sword strapped to his back, and a lute in his hand. Jaskier stumbled a bit, because oh fuck, look at the thing. “Gimmie,” he snapped.

“Proof,” Geralt said. “I talked about it with Vesemir and Eskel. There are no finer minds than theirs. And we all agreed, for a reason only known to the gods, I am afforded the gift of seeing the future. And if that is the case, I should embrace it. I would stay in this time for a few days.”

“Shut up, I said gimmie.” Jaskier snatched the lute away from Geralt. In an instant he knew, it was the real thing, not just a proper lute, but one made centuries ago. The wood finish was different, the weight, the head stock. There were good replicas, but one touch by someone as obsessed with history and music as he was, and they would know. He confirmed it by licking it, and the varnish on it had a taste, a natural oil, fat from animal to protect it. Jaskier sat and began to strum. The strings were true gut, not metal or plastic. He tuned it a bit and then just let loose. He sang old songs, new songs that he had turned old, anything that came to his mind. The instrument was heavy, and his heart was light.

Eventually though the heavy strings were murder on his fingers and he stopped playing. He looked at Geralt who was watching him. “Time travel is insane. I understand that you come from a time that believed dragons are real, and the world is flat, but I assure you time travel isn’t real.”

“The world isn’t flat,” Geralt sneered, “Everyone who has ever set sail knows this. Why would you think the earth is flat?”

“I don’t, it was a belief that once was - oh fucking Victorians ruining history,” Jaskier groaned. He knew, dammit it was his almost field of study that the era Geralt was from was not the dark ages that people thought they were. He was annoyed at himself. “Do you believe in magic?”

“No,” Geralt said bluntly. “Or I didn’t until I met an odd man, and found Kaer Morhen looking like something from a child’s story, an abandoned keep full of mystery and ghosts.”

“What story do you tell your child?”

“Good ones, she is a bloody thirsty lass,” Geralt sounded far too pleased about that. “And what were your stories from your mother?”

Jaskier shook his head. “They were of you, the legends of the white wolf and the witchers. Epic tales of heroics and sword fights. Most people think the white wolf is a composite of a few different men, merged together through time, lost books and manuscripts.”

“I am fairly certain I am one man. Though I move quickly enough in battle rumour spreads among the ignorant and unstudied, that I split myself in twain via dark sorcery.”

“But you don’t.”

“The vapour they think is my magic, is Lambert’s smoke bombs,” Geralt rolled his eyes a bit. “Magic is not real. But the world contains things we cannot explain. Doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Jaskier looked at the lute. “So what, that unexplained sent you to my time?”

“It seems so,” Geralt looked oddly calm about it. “The question is why me, why not Eskel? He is the one who studies the most, he would learn much from your time. Or Lambert a little knowledge from a different era and his science would move leaps and bounds. Even Vesemir. But you get me. They could not go through the door. Ciri almost, but not.”

“You experimented?”

“Of course, that is how you gain knowledge. There was…” Geralt was clearly struggling for words to describe it. “It did not feel like they would always be denied. Just that it was not their time yet. It was solely mine. But I lead the charge in battle, I suppose it makes sense I lead the charge here.”

“Is Yennefer a witch?” Jaskier had to ask. “The songs about her either worship her, or have her in bed with a demon.”

And Jaskier learned that there had never been a more beautiful sight than the Geralt of Rivia laughing in pure joy and amusement. 

“No, she is merely a woman, learned, determined, brutal in her desire for independence. She seeks knowledge, the power to control her fate, the way an animal seeks prey for dinner. That drive is perhaps a gift from hell, but when she dances with someone I have yet to see cloven feet or brimstone.” Geralt laughed a bit more, “She would be pleased to know that stories of her live on. An immortality she craved. No, not the immortality, the recognition that she dared to be in control, powerful.”

“You swear to Freya, to Meliele, that you are the true Geralt of Rivia, the infamous White Wolf witcher of Kaer Morhen?” 

“I do so swear.”

“Right, sure, got it. I have a question or two…hundred,” Jaskier said. He took a quick breath. “Not more than five hundred. Probably.” He took off the doublet that, yes okay, he liked a bit and was in his shirtsleeves - another band t-shirt for a hippie group from the seventies that had belonged to his father. He lay the lute carefully on the doublet. “First off, the battle of Sodden Hill.” Jaskier turned on his phone, and hit the video button. “Tell me everything about the stand off with Nilfgaard there.”

“A thing that Yennefer had worked out, thanks to a few of more fiery experiments of Lambert’s was just how much you could burn when you combined certain ingredients -” Geralt began and Jaskier soaked in every word, just accepting the fact that time travel had happened.

Because at the end of the day, Jaskier desperately wished that there was at least a little magic in the world, and he wasn’t going to deny it when he seemed to be slapped in the face with it.

*

It was the rumble of their stomachs and the lower sun that made Jaskier realize how long it had been. “Food, you need food, and oh my god, the food will kill you. It has spices, I know that was rare in your time. Fuck, your gut microbes are gonna die.” Jaskier frowned. “No yoghurt, dear god, we have to keep you away from that. And peanuts.”

“I like peanuts,” Geralt protested. “They cannot have changed much over the centuries.”

“How do you even know about them?”

“Jaskier, there is not a part of the continent I did not travel to, or at least run into travelers who went past the mountains and deeper into the ocean than I could comprehend. I have only had them a couple times, but they were enjoyable.”

“The songs suggest that you never went more south than -” Geralt rolled his eyes and huffed a bit and Jaskier winced, “And they are songs and not the actual history of a man. Yeah, okay. So I perhaps don’t actually know as much about you as I think I do.” That was annoying, to realize that his family’s whole field of study, their authority on it, perhaps not so authoritative. “You aren’t well,” Jaskier smiled a bit, determined to not finish that particular sentence out loud.

“You expected me to be an idiot who wielded a sword, because they couldn’t read or do sums?” Jaskier flushed and nodded a bit. “A mistake many made. The cat school of witchers were the smart, the bears strong. We were the feral wild men.” Geralt laughed, “and I suppose we were. Eskel only knew four tongues, I could only map my way based on the stars and wind, Lambert’s science was all based on trial and error not education beyond our library.”

“How vast was your library?” Jaskier asked. He knew dammit, that the witchers were some of the smartest there had been, but yes he supposed he did let some bias in that medieval smart couldn’t have been really smart in the end.

“As vast as we could make it,” Geralt answered. He got up, and went to where it had stood. “It was our secret. If people knew that the books we collected, that we accepted for payment were actually used for knowledge and not wiping our arse, they would have feared us even more. It comforted people to think us stupid or magical. The pretense served us well. The shelves were full, almost to the ceiling. There were ladders to reach the books, not meant for our eyes until we were older.”

“Who was it that sneaked them first?”

“Lambert - he hates being told no. Eskel read everything he could on a topic, until he exhausted it and moved onto the next. And I wandered. Just as I wandered the continent, I wandered the library picking up this and that. Whatever struck my fancy. I know a bit about a lot of things.”

“I know a lot about a few things,” Jaskier said. “Hyperfocus. A blessing and a curse.”

“And you know a lot about me.”

“Apparently not.”

“More than I thought they would,” Geralt bent and picked up a rock. “Ciri does not wish to be an empress.”

“You told her?” Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Why did you do that?”

“I talked with everyone about what was happening, have you not consulted your compatriots?”

“My compatriots would assume I drank too much coffee or mead.”

“That was Vesemir’s initial belief, though my description of you, the keep changed his mind. I am not a man given to fancy, and I couldn’t make up such. And I told them about how Ciri would become empress. We all agreed no matter what you say she did, she wouldn’t gain the job that would destroy her soul.”

“Telling the past about the future is dangerous. It is the butterfly effect! If you change one thing, you could reshape the whole of history.”

“Is time so fragile as that?”

“It is in movies,” Jaskier muttered.

“What are movies?”

“Plays that instead of in person, are on a screen for any to see.”

“This intrigues me, may I see one?”

“Sure, I have almost every subscription service on my laptop,” Jaskier agreed. He was about to say more, and there was a loud noise and he looked up. “Oh the helicopter tour, I forgot to sign up.” He had wanted to do that. He turned around and Geralt had his sword out. “Geralt?”

“A dragon, they are not real. And that doesn’t match what poets and madmen on bad mushrooms describe. Fuck, how do we kill it?” He looked both panicked, and resolute.

And it was that reaction that truly convinced Jaskier that it was not a ploy - Geralt’s demeanor was just too sincere in that moment. “It is a means of travel,” Jaskier explained softly. “About one hundred years ago, people figured out how to travel in the sky, it is common. Probably 70% of the continent has traveled in the sky at some point. It is safe, and not a threat I swear. We could even get you up in the sky, if you like.”

“No.”

“Honestly it is -” Jaskier stopped talking when Geralt just grunted and glared at him. “Yes well, I suppose it really isn’t necessary, not with everything else we will have to teach you. Are you going back in the tower and we meet again tomorrow?”

“No, I wish to stay a few days, there is always the worry that I step into the tower I won’t be allowed back out. I would rather experience what I can. I will stay with you.” Geralt nodded, certain of your welcome. “Travelers still share beds I trust.”

“Uh, no actually.”

“How do you stay warm?”

“Not a huge concern at this time of year,” Jaskier said, “and blankets and central heating.”

“Like the main fireplace?”

“Picture it, if the hot air from the fire that goes up the chimney was safe to breathe. Can you?” There was a nod, “Now then, that safe air is pushed through smaller chimneys or a sort inside the walls and brought to each room in a house. Whole place stays warm.”

Geralt beamed, “clever.”

“It is, isn’t it? Wait until you hear about toilets. That one is easier to show you. Welcome to the twenty first century, Geralt. People are still dicks, but we have easier access to staying clean so they are less smelly for the most part.” Geralt made a bit of a show of sniffing himself, and Jaskier had to laugh. “You aren’t so bad.”

“I bathe. A lot. To the annoyance of many. Too often in work I go far too long between. So at home at Kaer Morhen I bathe at least once a sennight.”

“Here you can shower every day,” Jaskier swore. “Also not die of a fever. That’s pretty great, too. Women don’t really die in childbirth much.”

“Science has grown much then. This is good. What is a shower?”

Jaskier reached out and took Geralt’s hand and tugged for a moment to make sure that the man would follow and he led him back to the hotel and up to his room. He took Geralt into the bathroom and showed him how to work the sink and toilet which utterly delighted Geralt, and then he set the shower to warming. Jaskier swiftly turned when Geralt slid out of all of his clothes, uncaring about his nudity. He didn’t hesitate but stepped under the spray and let out a noise that made Jaskier shiver. That was a sex growl if ever there was one. The sort of noise that people made in cringey commercials about how great the food was at a restaurant. It should have been absurd, but wasn’t. “I’ll leave you be.”

Jaskier went and sat on his bed. He opened his laptop and went through his subscriptions trying to find a movie that wouldn’t be too confusing for Geralt. Finally he settled on an old swashbuckler. Pirates was something that the man would understand and would let him not have to explain technology. He heard the water turn off and then Geralt came into the room, naked and scrubbing his hair dry with a towel.

And well while it seemed that a lot had been wrong about the songs of the white wolf, the descriptions of him as a man among men, without peer in terms of strength were on point, because that was one hell of a body and after a quick glance at Geralt’s soft cock, he turned his gaze. He went to his wardrobe and found a pair of sweatpants. “Here put these on,” Jaskier tossed them over. “Thank Melitele, their whole we are being authentic to medieval times doesn’t include a lack of room service. What is your favourite dead animal to eat?”

“Cow is tasty, but a rare treat. Venison, chicken.”

“I can get you a cow. Steak or burger?” Geralt shrugged, a bit lost. “Fuck it, if twenty first century food is going to kill you, we are sending you out in style.” Jaskier called down and ordered a couple bacon cheeseburgers loaded. Geralt was sitting on the bed and poking at the laptop a bit. “Here, I have a movie I think you will enjoy.” He pressed play and Geralt was clearly surprised by the colour and noise but he smiled.

“Skellige.”

“They filmed it in the Ard Craite.”

“I know that family.”

“Old name, still around. Still living up to the name.”

“Good.” Geralt crossed his legs and focused intently on the screen. An hour later food arrived and they ate on the trays on the bed, and Geralt grunted his approval at the food and never took his eyes off the screen. “It is an odd food, an incredible mix of flavours. I like it,” he declared after he was done.

“Now let’s hope it doesn’t kill you.”

“Poison is still common?”

“No, just you never tried new food and had it go wrong?”

“Lambert’s mystery fish stew.”

“He sounds great, bit annoyed he was lost to history.”

“I am as well. He is my equal - but if you ever tell him that I will deny it.”

Jaskier laughed. “That sentiment of siblings still exists.” They finished the movie, close on the bed but not touching. At the end, Jaskier closed the laptop. “Thoughts?”

“More,” Geralt immediately answered. “After I take a piss. In the toilet, that flushes it away.” He seemed very pleased to get to use the bog. He went to the washroom and returned quickly. “What else can we watch?”

Jaskier thought about it. “I know. A cartoon. It is as if paintings came to life.” He found one that he thought would work well, an old story about a girl who made a wish and it went poorly and then very right.

“I know similar tales to this,” Geralt said as he watched. “It is good that such things endure.”

“It is, everything I do is based on that. Things that endure. Or trying to make them endure.”

“A fine trade,” Geralt said. “Oh they are singing. There are singing animals now. That is odd.” Jaskier didn’t bother watching the movie, rather watched Geralt’s reactions to it, utterly entranced. It was clear that Geralt was going to ask for another, but the man was also clearly tired. 

“Take the bed, I’ll sleep on the ground. This has been a lot to take in,” Jaskier urged.

“It is a large bed, we’ll share,” Geralt replied. “Do I sleep in these pants? They are very soft and comfortable.”

“Yeah, you can sleep in them.” Jaskier stripped down to his boxer briefs and he slid under the covers, the queen bed allowing a lot of space between them. “Thoughts on the twenty first century?”

“Fascinating.”

“Lots to show you, Geralt.”

“You said you make things that endure. You know songs of my time and yours. Do you know in between?”

“A bit yeah. Want a banger from the sixteenth century?”

“That suits.”

Jaskier sang songs from a few different time periods between Geralt’s days and his. Geralt didn’t say anything, just listened and when Jaskier was done, he rolled over and was asleep quickly. Jaskier stared at Geralt’s back for a long time before he fell asleep as well.


	7. Chapter 7

“Geralt?” The man looked wrecked. Jaskier was surprised at how tired the man looked, considering how good the bed was in the room. Geralt had still been out cold when Jaskier had gone to shower, and had looked peaceful not that Jaskier watched him like a creeper or anything. It was a light creep at most. “Are you okay?”

“I am not,” Geralt yawned deeply. He waved a hand at Jaskier’s laptop. “I woke in the night and poked at your machine. It required your passcode, but you talk in your sleep if nudged and I gained access. I had seen your figures move on it and I found information. I was reading the interior of the net until the screen went black.”

“Reading what exactly?” Jaskier had a brief bit of panic because dear god the internet was not the place for a man from the thirteenth century. 

“I typed in Kaer Morhen, just as you had typed in to search us a movie. It took me to an encyclopedia. And I realized in there, was an incredible amount of knowledge; it allowed you to click to gain more information. It was a library, Jaskier. A beautiful library. Eskel would weep at all that information just sitting there waiting for his gaze.” Geralt shook his head. “The box said it was three in the morning when it ceased being.”

“Just needs a recharge and then you can look up more stuff. But if you are that tired perhaps it isn’t a good day to go to the village?” Jaskier was frowning, the man was likely not to have great reactions this tired to the changes about.

“Nonsense,” Geralt sneered a bit, “I battled a Nilfgaardian battalion once with three days of no sleep and an arrow through my torso. But I am hungry. Perhaps a breaking of our fast.”

“And some coffee,” Jaskier suggested. He could use one, and one of the good things about this place was the coffee bar they had set up.

“Kofe?” Geralt said in confusion.

“A drink lots of people enjoy, perks you up in the morning.”

“I could use this, indeed.” Geralt nodded. “Shall we? I am intrigued about what the village is like in your century and to gain clothes like yours. They look comfortable. But perhaps not as loud as what a bard wears?”

“They’ll have tons of black,” Jaskier promised. He took Geralt into the public rooms, and most people just assumed it was one of the work actors for the hotel and ignored him. “Do you like bitter or sweet drinks?”

“I do not know. I like mead?”

“Which is both sour and sweet,” Jaskier nodded. “Hmm, simple latte should take care of you, easier than coffee to begin with. Are you allergic to milk?”

“How would I know? It is not a thing I have drunk since I was at my mother’s breast.”

“Well, let’s go almond milk to be safe then,” Jaskier said. The person working the machine did awful pulls so Jaskier stared and the man moved out of the way. He had worked as a barista while at the start of his channel and it was muscle memory that didn’t leave you. He made Geralt what he drank - a quad shot latte with a little extra sugar - and handed him the cup. He started working on his own drink and when he looked over Geralt was half done his. “Uhh, wasn’t that too hot to be guzzled?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied. “But my tongue will recover.” He was frowning, and looking into his cup. “I am unsure but I think I will lean towards favourable for this drink. Lambert would love it.”

“Next up, food,” Jaskier said and took him to the breakfast station, and put together plates for them. They sat down and Geralt finished the drink and tucked into the food. He finished and took himself back for more food while Jaskier was still working on his plate.

By the end of the meal, Jaskier noticed that Geralt was blinking rapidly. “Allergic reaction?” he wondered aloud. “Geralt does your stomach feel fine, breath?”

“Yes, I feel like I did before the battle of Sodden Hill, when the battle cries rise and you charge in,” Geralt nodded. “To the village!” 

“Geralt?” Jaskier was concerned, because Geralt who from what he had seen didn’t engage in fidgeting, was tapping his fingers against the wool of the kilt against his thigh. “Are you sure?”

“I can feel my blood moving under my skin, like it is mid battle.” He looked around, “ahh, yes good.” He stalked over to a wall that like most in the main areas was decorated with old weaponry.

Jaskier had already determined that 90 percent of it was fake. Of course Geralt found one of the few things that was real. “Put that back.”

“No, you said we travel to the village, we must travel appropriately. I am willing to believe you that it is peace time and only travel with this one sword.” Geralt clearly felt he was being generous and accommodating. He was moving quickly and Jaskier chased after him. They went out the main door and the staff were all staring at Geralt, but no one was doing anything about the large man walking away in a kilt with one of their display swords. But they were all probably on minimum wage, and if Jaskier had been one of them he also would have thought that he was not paid enough for this shit.

He smiled at the person working the front desk. “All good, part of the reenactment,” he said, “for my videos for my potential future show.” That would take care of it if management raised concerns. He heard a shout from the courtyard and he finally understood what battle cry meant. “Fuck,” he shouted and ran outside, where there was a little smart car, trying to reverse away as Geralt charged at it with sword raised, but not getting traction on the gravel driveway. “No, Geralt!” Jaskier shouted. “Do not!” he watched the sword come down, and fuck a broadsword would kill a smart car no fucking question. His brain wanted to wonder who even thought a smart car was a good idea in mountains like these, but he needed to stay focused. He waited but the sword didn’t cleave it in half, rather it stopped. You couldn’t even slide a piece of paper in between the car and sword, but it didn’t puncture it at all.

But then the car started to reverse slowly back. Geralt twisted, spun low and the sword went across, went through the front tires like butter and the car stopped moving. Geralt took a few steps back and held the sword in a ready position waiting for the next attack. “Jaskier, stay back from the beast!” Geralt ordered.

“It is a smart car, you have to be either vintage Skellige steel or a SUV to be a beast,” Jaskier said. He was a bit surprised those words popped out of him; apparently he listened more than he realized when Zoltan talked about cars. 

“It moved, clearly intended to attack. Jaskier, I like this kofe you served me, it makes you battle ready far more quickly that even my training has. What exactly is in it?” He was still facing the car, sword raised and Jaskier decided to move in between Geralt and the poor car. The woman who had been driving it, came out and ran inside crying. That problem could be dealt with later. “Jaskier, you need to move. You are a bard, I am a warrior, it is my sworn duty to keep you safe. And that is what I will do.”

“That is a car, Geralt. It isn’t a threat. It is our equivalent to riding a horse everywhere. We even call it horsepower,” Jaskier said. He flushed a bit at Geralt being determined to keep him safe, it wasn’t a thing he was used to. He had been taking care of himself a long time, and wasn’t generally the sort to suggest he needed protecting - the bar brawl arrest sheet he had suggested he managed just fine. “Geralt, look is it moving without the woman driving it?"

“No,” Geralt said after a moment. “It is not a threat?”

“Well environmentally they are, though a smart car a bit less, but their carbon footprint doesn’t actually offset their other efficiencies, and I mean you can kill people with a car but -” Jaskier winced as the sword that had been slowly lowering raised up again. “But they are not an instrument of war, or battle. They are transportation, that is all.”

“It is a vile colour.”

“Yeah, okay the purple is a bit of a bad choice, but that isn’t suggesting that it is like a poisonous frog or anything.” Jaskier went forward and pressed at Geralt’s hands, to convince him to lower his guard. “It is not a threat. I swear it, Geralt. You do not have to protect me from it.”

“You swear?”

“On the honour of the family seat,” Jaskier said, figuring that would make it more appropriate for Geralt. God his pupil’s were huge, from adrenaline, and fuck from caffiene. Jaskier realized he had given the man a fairly hard stimulant introduction. “Fuck. Okay, no town while you are hopped up on latte.”

“Nonsense, let us go.”

“No weapons allowed in the village,” Jaskier said quickly. “So umm -” He watched Geralt drive the sword into the ground, and well, that sort of power was rather attractive. But he couldn’t be distracted. “Geralt?”

“I understand,” Geralt smiled, “and besides, I am weapon enough to keep you safe. Let us go, it will be a morning’s walk to reach it. Though I do still feel my blood moving speedily. Perhaps a quick run,” he grinned and began to jog. 

“I -” Jaskier had planned to drive them down but wasn’t sure it was the best to put Geralt in a car right now. He didn’t particularly like running though. But then the owner of Kaer Morhen was coming out with the woman who had the smart car, and Jaskier decided he was a fan of running after all and hurried to catch up to Geralt.


	8. Chapter 8

“There are many of those cars,” Geralt said as they approached town. It had been a long jog and longer walk that Jaskier usually did and his feet were killing him. “This used to be a common building and a dozen homes.”

“It is still small,” Jaskier pointed out. It probably had a population of a couple thousand, and it had what was generously called an airport that was mostly a small strip for weather monitoring or people wanting to see the mountains. 

“It is almost the size of Lettenhove.”

“The family seat is about 25,000 people,” Jaskier said. “The title these days mostly lets us keep the manor house, get good tickets to a few things. All for show.”

“A bloody beginning to a forgotten end. That is an interesting journey.” Geralt tilted his head. “I smell more kofe, I could use another measure of it.”

Jaskier did not agree with that. “What you could use more, is a bit more clothing, if you are staying a couple of days, more than the kilt would be handy.”

“I brought a little coin,” Geralt smiled proudly. “I can pay.”

“Oh well, that is nice but umm, well -” Jaskier cleared his throat. “You see, it is just that…” Oh Melitele the man looked so earnest.

“You are nervous to tell me that in nine hundred years currency may have changed and what I brought with me will not be worth anything?” Geralt snorted a bit. “Or worth a lot if you then put it in a historical auction, or sold to a museum?” He held out a few coins. “I give you these, you buy me clothes, and then later you profit from lost history being found.”

“That is very clever,” Jaskier looked at the coins, at history in his hands. Zoltan would know how to sell these and yeah it would cover some clothes for Geralt, no problem. And a good bit besides to the right person. “Let’s get you some gear.” They walked down the main road and found a good all purpose general store, bit of a mix of hardware, decor, and work clothes. They found tees, plaid shirts, because of course a store like this had plaid shirts, and jeans. He held a few pairs up to Geralt and had to make a guess because a place like this didn’t have change rooms. “Ooh, what are those?” Geralt was distracted and went to a counter. “Look, Jaskier, bows are still a thing.”

“They are,” Jaskier agreed. “Did you use them much?”

“No, I am crap with my crossbow,” Geralt admitted. “I dislike distance between myself and my target.” He looked along the wall. “What are those?”

Jaskier was not explaining guns, he did not have the energy for that topic. “Weapon, not my thing,” he said.

“No of course not, you are a bard.”

“Oh that explains the jacket, up at the Kaer,” the woman behind the counter. “Mark my words they have the place up for sale in a year.”

“Really?” Jaskier asked, a bit intrigued. “What makes you say that -” he looked at the name tag, “Ves?”

She snorted a bit, “Because they are wankers?”

“There is a cab driver in town, Roche you know him?” Because he remembered the man mentioning a Ves and the way she said that had the same pattern as him.

“I do,” she winked, “Very well. Want me to ring those up?” Jaskier nodded and handed her the card. “They are playing it all wrong up there. It isn’t reenactment and it isn’t a fun getaway. When people can’t figure out a thing, they don’t come back to a thing.”

“That’s the truth,” Jaskier agreed thinking idly of a couple exes. “While in town is there anything of interest we should see?”

“Town hall has a bit of a museum, swears it is the real equipment of the wolf school in it. Likely fake. The diner has a good special on today. Some nice walks. Standard small town.”

“I would see this museum,” Geralt replied immediately.

“Sure,” Jaskier took the bag of clothes. They stopped at the library and used the bathroom and Geralt changed into the clothes, and they weren’t a perfect fit but fuck that didn’t matter because hell, he was somehow hotter in jeans. It was unfair. “Huh, the kilt won’t fit in the bag.” Once unwrapped from Geralt it seemed like even more fabric. He watched as Geralt shrugged and wrapped it around his shoulders and torso and it seemed like a funky punk rock shirt. “That’s impressive.”

“It is a practical garment.”

They went to the town hall and calling it a museum was being overly generous. It was a few glassed off pieces, a couple of paintings. But Geralt moved quickly over to one display and then went very still. 

Jaskier gave him time, wandered and read the plaque at everything else. He even played on his phone a bit, catching magical creatures that popped up in the little room. “It isn’t my stuff,” Geralt said softly.

Jaskier moved over and looked at the dagger, the medallion, a couple other things. “Do you have any way of knowing whose it was?”

“Vesemir’s,” Geralt said. “The nicks there on the snout of the medallion. His has that, he says it is from a bear.”

“And in reality?”

“Children, unwanted babies were left at the door of Kaer Morhen. When they teethe they will chew anything.” He smiled a bit. “He tells stories, about how Lambert chewed until he was almost four. Lambert hates those tales.”

“Were you left at the door?”

“No, my mother couldn’t be bothered to take me that far. I was left in the paths just that way a bit.” Geralt gestured back the way they had come. “I forgave her long ago. If she kept me I would have likely starved to death. Being a wolf, it was better than that.”

“Was it good at all?” this was a thing Jaskier wondered. “Is being a hero worth it?”

“Yes,” Geralt nodded slowly, eyes still on the medallion. “Standing in front of the weaker, protecting them, always worth it. Especially if it is an ugly purple smort car.”

Jaskier laughed. “Smart car, and you were very noble and fierce.” He understood that Geralt didn’t want to talk about this. “Let’s walk around town a bit.” They meandered the small streets and Geralt spoke of what it was like in his day, and asked questions about things he saw constantly. Jaskier explained what he could, told Geralt about his life and career a bit and sang a little. They drew a crowd and well, Jaskier always was a performer and he sang for the small group and saw his cab driver from the first day. He threw the man a wink and the guy laughed. At the end, when he bowed, there was applause and even a bit of money tossed his way. Enough actually to get them some lunch. Which bonus. They went to the diner and Ves had been right, the special was fantastic. He did insist though no more caffeine for Geralt. But that didn’t matter when the sugar from the brownie a la mode hit his system.

Jaskier really should be more carefully with the modern food, but Geralt was loving it so much, and it made his resting murder face soften into happiness. “Ciri would love this.”

“You don’t have chocolate yet, do you?”

“The brown here, no we do not.” Geralt was clearly debating licking the plate and Jaskier couldn’t blame him. “We have sweet treats. Tarts, pies, sugared fruits. But nothing so rich as this.”

Jaskier shouldn’t tease the man, but he couldn’t resist. “You can get drinks that combine chocolate and coffee. They are better than orgasms.”

“Oh I highly doubt that,” but Geralt looked interested. “Are we able to access this beverage perhaps?”

“Tomorrow,” Jaskier promised, “you are riding high enough as it is. Walk to walk through the woods a bit, see how much they have changed?”

Geralt nodded and they went to the paths, and the man looked content. Jaskier just enjoyed watching him recognize the space even if the trees were larger. By the time Geralt was satisfied though, Jaskier knew he couldn’t walk back up to the keep. 

“Right, you can walk back, but I am taking a cab,” Jaskier said.

“Cab?”

“Car, someone drives it to where you want to go and then you pay them.” Jaskier took a deep breath. “You ready for that or are you walking?”

“I am ready,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier went to the cab stand and one drove up. It wasn’t Roche which was a shame, he owed the man a drink. They got in the back and he buckled Geralt in. They went up the mountain and Geralt was a bit pale. “Geralt?”

Geralt just grunted in return. When they were in the parking lot, Geralt ripped the belt off and was out of the car, puking. Jaskier paid and then went to rub Geralt’s back. “Are you okay?”

“It was fast and wrong,” Geralt replied.

“Motion sickness,” Jaskier nodded. “With all the sugar, that would be a hell of a combination.”

“An unacceptable one,” Geralt replied.

“You!” the manager came running. “You killed a car.”

Jaskier stepped forward. “He killed a couple tires.” He held up his hands. “It was an honest mistake. Of well,” fuck he was blanking. Usually Zoltan or Priscilla were around and they thought far quicker than he did.

“Here, for the slain beast,” Geralt handed over a few stones. Gems. “My apologies.”

They would be worth several thousand dollars, easily Jaskier guessed. The manager immediately backed down and said no harm was truly done, he understood that they had created such an authentic experience of the true Kaer Morhen anyone could be overwhelmed. Jaskier stomped on Geralt’s foot when it seemed like the man was going to argue. Luckily Geralt got the hint. 

“I need to get my friend to my room. Over indulged.” The man said he would send up some crackers and ginger ale to Jaskier’s room and Jaskier smiled a thanks. He hustled Geralt up and he tossed their bags, and the doublet he had forgotten he was wearing on a chair. “Just how much do you have in that pouch of yours?”

“Not much more,” Geralt replied. “Your time is very expensive.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

“My stomach still pitches like it is at sea.”

“Lie down,” Jaskier ordered, “on your back.” He sat up on the bed next to Geralt. “Oh wait, untie all the plaid.” Geralt did and folded it carefully before he put it on the chair. Geralt then lay down. “Trust me.”

“You’ve given me no reason not to. Plus, I can snap your neck in an instant if need be.”

“Charming,” Jaskier laughed a bit. He rubbed his hands together, warmed them up a bit. He had cold hands. He had learned music not just because it was always in his head, but that playing helped his circulation. Once they were warm he lifted Geralt’s shirt and just lay them on the white wolf’s stomach. He let the light pressure linger and then began to rub very gentle circles. Jaskier sang a soft and low love song, one Priscilla had written. He sang and made the circles on warm, taut skin. There was a knock at the door and he went still; he swore he heard Geralt’s breath catch. 

He went and thanked the worker for the drop off. “This will help.”

“I am fine now.”

“Another movie?” Jaskier suggested.

Geralt agreed and they sat on the bed and watched. Neither said anything when Jaskier yawned and leaned his head against Geralt’s shoulder. He put on another and fell asleep halfway through. The last thing he remembered was being pulled close to a warm body. 


	9. Chapter 9

“The world is interesting these days,” Geralt said out of nowhere. They had been sitting in the grasses on the hill. Three days now that Geralt hadn’t stepped through the tower, wanting to experience the future, understand what was coming for the world. Jaskier knew it was foolish after just a few days but he was starting to think that if he could topple the tower with his bare hands, he would. “There are many things I like about it. Coffee, the clothing, chocolate. I am a very large fan of chocolate.”

Jaskier snorted a bit, “you ate four bars last night.”

“Would have been five if you hadn’t run with that last one. You are quick.”

“Played some questionable bars in my youth, you learn how to move fast in places like those.” The sun was warm on his skin. “You like my phone.”

“It has many amusements on it. I do not like how few swords people carry, do they not worry over their safety?”

“Surviving is a bit easier now, less robbers on the road. Protection of a car and all that.” Jaskier yawned a bit. “Law is more universal and in place.”

“Hmm.” He could feel Geralt lay down next to him. “You do not fear the pox, that is nice. But the wool is not as soft.”

“You have nice wool?”

“Our cloaks are softer than a lady’s breast, or a babe’s bottom. They keep you warm, keep you comforted. Your jackets do not seem worth the loss of cloaks.”

“You know?” Jaskier thought about it. “Yeah, I kinda miss cloaks, they are badass. You look majestic or mysterious in them. Cloaks and capes making a comeback would be swell.”

“People kiss more in public,” Geralt added. “I cannot decide on whether that is a good thing or a poor change.”

“I suppose it depends on the sort of kiss.”

“The one I witnessed between these two men, seemed rather carnal for the place that we acquire coffee.”

Jaskier froze, unsure if Geralt hated seeing a carnal kiss, or that it was men kissing. Jaskier tended to cut people out of his life without a second thought if they were bigots, he was too busy to deal with that shit, but a man from the thirteenth century was a bit of a different situation. “Men can kiss each other. They can fall in love, and date, live together. Be a couple.” Geralt was giving him a look like Jaskier was mad. “No, Geralt, it is true and there is nothing wrong with it. Love comes in many forms and -” Why was the man laughing? Jaskier felt his spine tense, ready to fight.

Geralt snorted, “They were soldiers of Nilfgaard, fine, I care not, but really do people involve that much tongue in their public kisses these days?”

“Oh you could actually see tongue wiggle, no don’t like that, and I have been fucked in public.” Jaskier shuddered a bit, because Toussaint kissing was great, but watching other people do it was just gross. “Bet there was noise too.”

“There was, and it was wrong,” Geralt said definitively. “I can see myself adjusting to much in this world, but not that.”

“Fair. Wait, you said soldier of Nilfgaard what do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“That sounded like a euphemism for gay.”

Geralt smirked a bit, “And do you not have those anymore?”

“Well sure, but you had them?”

“Men have always sought comfort together during war. As much as I wish Nilfgaard to hell, it is handy saying. The best I faced of their company preferred men. He was good in bed.”

“I’m sorry wait with the what now? Geralt of Rivia was in love with Yennefer of Vengeburg!” Jaskier sat up.

“I was,” Geralt agreed, “once. And I also loved others. Women and men. Is that not allowed anymore to like both?”

“No it is allowed. I like both,” Jaskier said. “It is fine. But just...you?”

“A cock or a cunt, both bring pleasure. I don’t care which so long as they have fire in their eyes, a slyness in their smile, and can wield a weapon with competency.”

“I can really rock a broken beer bottle,” Jaskier blurted out. He gave a faint smile, “And I definitely keep tongue kisses behind closed doors.”

Geralt smiled a bit, and Jaskier shivered. “And what about hills in the long grass with no one around. No doors there.”

“Oh holy fuck, the white wolf is flirting with me,” Jaskier felt twitchy, restless. “Right um, just so we are clear, when you say you have been to bed with a man, what exactly do you mean? Because in the twelve hundreds in inns, traveling men did share beds for warmth.” Because there was a good shot that Geralt’s understanding of this conversation was very different than his own. “You have -” he sort of gestured a bit, and Geralt tilted his head.

“Rolled down a hill with a man? I suppose when I was young and we were learning to fight.” Geralt shrugged. “I don’t understand. Do you mean have I had my cock in another man’s ass? Because yes. I have. Also my mouth. I have had cock in my mouth. Clearly who hasn’t?”

“Many, many people Geralt.”

“I was raised in an all boy fighting school, Jaskier. Exactly what do you think we did at night when we were seventeen?”

“You know what, that is a really fucking good point.”

“Yes, fucking was the point. Lord, Vesemir used to yell at us so.  _ I don’t care how many pikes you twirl, but my god you will be ready to train when I wake you up, and no a fuck limp will not get you out of practice. _ You learned that lesson quickly enough. He was merciless, but also made sure there was the decoction that allowed us to pleasure without injury. He is a good man, a good trainer. I hope that I can be half of him to Ciri.”

“Oh,” Jaskier felt a bit faint. “You fuck men. So long as they can fight, and have fire in their eyes.”

“Yes, that is the rough criteria.” Geralt smiled a bit, “And you never answered if you would kiss absurdly in a location such as this.”

“I absolutely would,” Jaskier said and launched himself into Geralt’s arms. He had enough momentum that it pushed Geralt back, and Jaskier had all that muscle and strength under him. It was a heady feeling. “I had very specific dreams about you when I figured out I liked men.”

“Did you?”

“Some teens think of their favourite singer or actor? Me? I liked mythic heroes.”

“I am just a man, Jaskier. I do not have the stamina of the gods in stories.” Geralt cupped his cheek. “Perfectly human.”

“Perfect human form, that is for sure,” Jaskier teased and he lowered his head and kissed the goddamn man of his dreams. And it was perfect. It was firm and sure, and yes there were tongues, along with hands that touched everything they could, until Geralt rolled them over and pinned Jaskier beneath him. Jaskier looked up at him and smiled. “Promise I have fire in my eyes.”

“How competent are you with that broken beer bottle?”

“At least six people out there are scarred from it.” Yes one was himself from his first bar fight, but Geralt did not need that particular detail, not when their hips were pressed against each other. “How’s my sly smile?” Jaskier let a bit of a smirk slowly grow across his lips.

“It is adequate,” Geralt said and then they were kissing again. It reminded Jaskier of trysts in summer breaks, moments rendered perfect by faded memory. He didn’t want Geralt to become a faded memory, and clutched tightly to the simple linen shirt that Geralt refused to change for something more modern, though he had been wearing the jeans they had bought in town.

Actually, right now Jaskier didn’t care for those jeans because in the kilt interesting parts of Geralt were easily accessed. Jaskier tugged at the shirt so that he could scrape his nails over those thick back muscles. Geralt gasped against his throat and Jaskier did it again. Geralt sat up, pulled away. “No stopping,” Jaskier whined.

“Jaskier,” Geralt smiled a bit. “Do you know what else I like about these times?”

“I was hoping my dick would be added to that list.” Jaskier paused. “Unless you don’t want to? Shit, do you have someone back when?”

“Not currently,” Geralt swore and that eased something in Jaskier. He’d fuck almost anyone, and yes that had included married people, but Geralt was different, and Jaskier didn’t want to be hurting someone in the twelve hundreds. Fuck, he might actually be maturing a bit. Priscilla would be so pleased. “But something I very much enjoy is the shower in your room.”

“I know.”

“And I think you in there with me, watching water pour down your skin, would be something I very much like about this century.”

“Oh, yes that is a good point. You would like that very much, and so would I,” Jaskier held out a hand and Geralt hauled him up. “So let’s go do that.” 

They hurried back to the hotel and Jaskier set the water to warm. They watched each other strip out of their clothes and they stepped under the spray. It was a decent shower and a good temperature but like most showers not particularly meant for two. They tried to get them both under the spray but Geralt was so large and Jaskier wasn’t exactly the twink he had been once upon a time, stupid work outs with Zoltan. After the second bang of his elbow, he was fairly certain the moment was ruined. 

Geralt cupped his face and kissed him. “You please me,” he said softly and it was an odd phrase, not one he had ever heard from a partner before, but Jaskier liked it. “This pleases me.”

“You are shivering out of the warm spray,” Jaskier had to point out.

“I am still pleased at being with you like this.”

“I am digging it too. But maybe dig it in the bed?”

“Do you have a decoction that would allow us to fully engage in a hard fuck?”

Jaskier snorted, so much for the more fanciful words. “I have lube and condoms, yeah.”

“These words are not known to me.”

“They will be in the next little bit.” Jaskier went to the wardrobe and pulled out his smaller bag. Inside he found the small pouch he was looking for and brought it over to the bed. He opened it up and the small bottle of lube and a condom went onto the night table. “You look really great with wet hair.” He tilted his head a bit. “Geralt, does it curl?” There was a bit of a wave as it was air drying and then the seductive look slid off Geralt’s face and he scowled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“The weight mostly keeps the devil locks tamed.”

“And if it was short?” Jaskier couldn’t stop the snort of laugh as Geralt’s grumpy looked increased. “That much curl, huh?” Geralt sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms.

“This conversation is over.”

“Wow, really that much?” Jaskier laughed some more and moved closer. “Hate them that much?”

“Indeed. Lambert teased me something fierce about them when we were young. At least I have the satisfaction that his widow’s peak increases every year.”

“I hate how much chest hair I have,” Jaskier offered.

“Really, but it keeps you warm, it looks pleasant against your skin.” Geralt uncrossed an arm and the fingers dragged lightly across his skin. Jaskier shivered a bit. “It feels pleasant under my touch.” Geralt pulled him onto the bed and lay on top of him. “You are handsome.”

“Have you seen you?”

“I have. I am scarred, with bizarre eyes from our experiments, and I have an unusual mole on my back.”

“Let me see,” Jaskier said immediately. He shimmied out from under Geralt and looked at his back. “Huh. It is a dick? It sort of looks like a dick.”

“That is what my brothers say.”

Jaskier bent and kissed the mole. “Neat.”

Geralt laughed a bit, and Jaskier took the chance to touch him, slowly steadily. He mapped every bit of Geralt’s back, ass, thighs - even the arch of his foot. Geralt rolled over and Jaskier did the same to the front of him. Jaskier relished the hard muscles, and warm skin. Pressed kisses to scars, found spots where the famed white wolf was ticklish, where the skin was dead, and what made him curse in need.

Jaskier reached for the lube and he settled between Geralt’s thighs. He was always one hell of a multi-tasker and he sucked Geralt’s cock, as he opened himself up. When Geralt’s was arching under his ministrations, Jaskier pulled off, and grabbed the condom. He slid it on Geralt. “Sorry, I know it probably feels weird, but well we don’t know what you might be carrying.” 

“Carrying?”

“I’ll explain later,” Jaskier said. “Can I ride you?” There was a nod and he held Geralt’s cock and slowly slid down until he was all the way down. “Well, fuck.” Geralt felt fantastic.

“Yes, that is what we are doing,” Geralt agreed and Jaskier liked. “I like this.”

“Sex is pretty awesome.”

“No, this laughing during sex. It is another new thing for me.”

Jaskier nodded. “Me too,” he agreed and moved up and then back down. “I like it a lot.” He liked Geralt a lot. He had always fallen in love easily. In an instant, in a day, just like he was now. And he fell out fairly easily as well; in a frown, one off word, one call me later. Jaskier looked down at Geralt, and could just feel that he would only ever fall deeper and deeper and never out.

But he was a champion at ignoring what could hurt him, and he would ignore it now too. Jaskier just focused on Geralt’s hands and body, the moans he was letting out. Jaskier pushed all thought out of his head and just enjoyed. They moved together and when Geralt began to stroke him off, it was all over. He spilled onto Geralt’s stomach and Geralt held his hips moved him easily until Geralt’s orgasm hit him as well.

Jaskier slid off and dealt with the condom for Geralt. “Okay, so weird question, cuddling in the thirteenth century, a thing?”

“Cuddle? That word is unfamiliar to me.”

“Arms around the person you slept with, soft words, softer touches?” Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed. “Affirmation, comfort?”

“Yes, this is a thing we do,” Geralt held open an arm. “There is no name for it. It is just done.”

“Good.” Jaskier pressed along Geralt’s side. He lay his hand on Geralt’s stomach. “You please me,” he said after a moment into the silence.

“You know the music of my time well enough. There are songs of this moment. They are nice. I have heard a bit of modern music. Do you have good songs for this sort of moment?”

“People make playlists for everything. Next round, I’ll put on my fuck list. It is killer.”

“What is your favourite song that describes this moment?” A finger was dragging up and down his back. “Sing it for me.”

Jaskier was quiet, because it honestly wasn’t something he had thought of before. And then he thought of seeing his father read, his head on Jaskier’s mother’s lap and her humming a song. He began to hum that song, and eventually the words came to him and he sang it. “Not a current song, a generation or two ago. But it is what came to mind.”

Geralt was quiet.

“Thoughts? Three words or less,” Jaskier couldn’t look at him.

“The world has many changes, and yet many things are very the same. That song, I understand well. It does suit the moment.” Jaskier felt a kiss against his head and then soon there was light snore as Geralt napped. Jaskier hummed a bit more of the song and fell asleep as well. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jaskier was lying in the grass and Geralt was next to him. He was leaving tomorrow and looking forward to Geralt coming with him. He could not wait to show the man what Novigrad was like now. And Skellige, and yes even Nilfgaard. “We’ll have to forge some paperwork for you, but Zoltan knows the sort of people who can do that. So long as we pay and don’t ask any questions.” He plucked some grass. “You can come work for me, or we will find you something to do.”

Geralt was quiet but that seemed to be a common state of being for him, so Jaskier built grandiose dreams and plans into the silence. A silence that went on too long, and Jaskier turned his head. Geralt was watching him and Jaskier nodded a bit at the look in Geralt’s eyes.

There was love, or at least the knowledge that with more time together it could be love.

And unbearable sadness.

“You are going back into the tower,” Jaskier said. He nodded again. “I know you are. I know.”

“Do you understand why?”

“No,” Jaskier huffed, “Because frankly I don’t know how you survive without coffee.” A week and the man had become addicted almost on the same level as Jaskier, and Jaskier had had his blood medically switched out for coffee. Geralt smiled a bit and Jaskier closed his eyes. “I understand,” he added softly. “I would do the same.” Because as much as they had something between them, it didn’t win out against family, a life. “Besides you’d fuck up too much of my work if you stayed. The year you think it is, half a dozen ballads about the white wolf’s legendary deeds still need to be written.” He wiped away a tear. “Love doesn’t matter in comparison to that.”

“It matters,” Geralt pulled him close, and nuzzled along his neck. Geralt did that a lot, and Jaskier didn’t know how he’d go back to men who focused on kisses and not nuzzles. For the rest of his life he’d be hunting down the perfect nuzzle. And he knew he’d never find it. 

They lay in the grass for a bit, Geralt nuzzling him, and Jaskier letting go of such lovely dreams. “Geralt, this is the part in movies where I am supposed to beg you to stay, and then when we part, I walk away crying, and you call my name, having done an eleventh hour change of heart.”

“No matter how I feel about you, my daughter is on the other side, is in the past. And she comes first.”

“I fell in love with the songs and stories of you. You were my family’s life work. And then I fell in love with you, the actual person. I touched the white wolf, he was, for a moment, mine. More than most people have. Dreams came true for a few moments.” Jaskier refused to let another tear fall, he wouldn’t be a fucking cliche, dammit. “Geralt, this was a fucking brilliant dream.”

There was a kiss at his temple and then Geralt stood, hauled him up. “If we linger, we hurt ourselves more.”

“I know,” Jaskier agreed and they walked towards the off limits tower, that they had been avoiding for the last few days. They stood at the door and Jaskier pulled Geralt in for a hard kiss. “I can at least comfort myself with the thought that I’ve ruined you for other men across several centuries,” he tried to joke.

“You have,” Geralt replied in utter earnestness.

“I am going to dream of you, every night,” Jaskier swore.

“I was reading about something you had mentioned in our first days together, called the butterfly effect, on your laptop,” Geralt was frowning. “A small thing, having incredible ripples across space. Could that work across time?”

“I don’t know, I don’t particularly believe in that theory.”

“If I change something in the past, it could ripple to the present.”

“Geralt, you can’t, you have to be careful,” Jaskier said. “The world is stronger and more delicate than we understand. You can’t do anything foolish. You can’t rush into something that we don’t understand.”

Jaskier was hauled into a kiss that he knew he would never forget, the sort of kiss that made all other kisses pale in comparison. 

“I’m a witcher, rushing in foolishly is what we do.” There was another kiss, equally as potent. “It will work or it won’t, and I guess we’ll know it did, if when we meet again, you don’t remember me.”

“How could I ever forget you?” Jaskier whispered.

“We shall see. Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

“I rather like your songs,” Geralt said and then let go of him and was gone into the tower.

Jaskier was both crying and laughing as he turned away. He went and gathered his bags, not wanting to finish his last night there, and left the absurdity that was Kaer Morhen behind.

*

Jaskier slowly lowered the statues into the pentagram and began to chant, to call forth a demon to ruin Valdo Marx’s channel. Bastard had it coming. And it wasn’t because he was a wee bit caffeine overloaded. He pouted when Priscilla and Zoltan ruined it, and they began the days work, because he was a professional goddammit.

Dijkstra stopped by to talk about the show they were thinking of having Jaskier host on the history channel, although apparently they had also approached Valdo. He glared at Priscilla because if they had let him summon a demon they wouldn’t be in this pickle. “We are sending you to a test location,” Dijkstra explained. “Film a bit of a vlog, show us what you would be like if you were on the road.”

“Where?” Jaskier asked.

Dijkstra handed him a folder. “Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier opened it, and felt a shiver along his spine. “Kaer Morhen is closed to the public.”

“Not any longer. A portion of it has been restored and turned into an inn. Rumour was it was going to be a bit of a reenactment place, but turns out it just an inn with historical flare. You can tour the ruins, and they offer classes on what life would have been like in its heyday, even lessons in archery and sword fighting. But not one of those places where guests have to dress up or anything.”

Jaskier looked at the brochure, it was more just a resort that offered fun classes about history than a medieval times sort of deal. He had to admit that he was rather intrigued. He had always wanted to go to Kaer Morhen, the home of the infamous White Wolf. “Empress Yennefer of Nilfgaard was rumoured to have been trained by the wolf school,” Jaskier looked up with a gleam in his eyes. “It is said that the reason she took the Nilfgaardian throne was that the witchers all banded together and put her on it. With blood, and teeth, and of course a great deal of dark magic.”

Priscilla snorted, “Of course. God forbid a woman use cunning and skill to take a throne. The rumours of how Yennefer stole the throne from Emrys are some of the best conspiracy theories ever, when the answer is simply that was a woman you did not fuck with.” She took the package from Jaskier. “Three tickets to the north, two rooms booked? Why so generous?”

“Because I like to win, and sending his whole team to do a bit of a sample of what you would do for us, is my best chance at winning.” Dijkstra smirked a bit, “I bet you like to win too.”

Priscilla’s gaze back was equally sharp, “I do.”

“Good. Bring me back something interesting, and I’ll make sure your world radically changes.”

The man left without another word and Jaskier started at the brochure and had deja vu. He usually loathed deja vu, but right now it made him happy. “Kaer Morhen,” he whispered.

“Didn’t you do your thesis on the place?”

“The clan that lived there - the wolf witchers,” Jaskier replied. “The songs about the white wolf are incredible and then just one day the small clan, disappeared - never seen or heard from again. Empress Yennefer made a vow to never speak of them again, and she did just that. Fucking legend.” Jaskier grinned, “Kaer Morhen, finally open to the public.”

“It is probably a pile of rocks with a plaque and then a shitty hotel built on the grounds,” Zoltan pointed out.

“Then I will see the pile of rocks. Toss a coin to your witcher,” Jaskier sang and his friends groaned because they hated the song with how much he sang it under his breath when he was focusing on his work. “Oh valley of plenty,” he sang even louder and they were so busy being annoyed he almost made it to the coffee machine.

*

They were quiet in the cab up the mountain road to Kaer Morhen, mostly praying for their lives, because there was no guard rail and it was a long fucking drop. They went around a bend and Jaskier gasped.

“It is a sight isn’t it?” the cab driver agreed.

“It is in better repair than I expected,” Jaskier pulled out his phone and took some video. “When the wolf clan disappeared, Empress Yennefer of Nilfgaard declared the place a sacred space, and a few people were put in charge of it. There was a line of caretakers of the keep, that was unbroken until the 1800s, when there was a sickness in the north and all the heirs perished. The place was just sort of forgotten, no one claimed it and it fell into disrepair. In the late twentieth century it was declared a historical site, so a golf course couldn’t fuck it up. People talked of restoring it, or at least preserving it, but it would have been an insane amount of money, getting resources here difficult.”

“Aye,” the driver concurred, “But last year a small group appeared. Had definitive proof that the keep belonged to them. They showed the city council their plans for a historic inn, mix of conservation and reconstruction, but also modernizing in spots. It was ambitious, and almost rejected, until the National Museum stepped in.”

“Oh?”

“The family knew where treasures were buried, gems, weapons, all sorts of historical pieces, even a couple things with Yennefer’s seal on them. They handed over a million grants, on the hopes that more would be found. Owners are a bit weird but decent. Had a drink or four with Lambert, that man will fleece you at cards without blinking.”

“Lambert?” Jaskier blinked. “One of the last wolves of Kaer Morhen was a Lambert, but he is seldom remembered. He has a fascinating -”

“We’re here,” Priscilla interjected.

They all got out of the cab and looked around. “Oh,” Jaskier said softly. It was all clearly mid repair, and would be for a decade or so, but it was far from the pile of rocks that was suggested. He looked around the courtyard, spun in a circle to take it all in. He was at Kaer Morhen. The Kaer Morhen. “Mama,” he breathed out. If he got the telly gig, he was bringing her here. There were a handful of people walking about, and an older man hurried out of the main building.

“Welcome, welcome, Jaskier it is my pleasure to meet you,” he said, hand outstretched. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”

“You like my bardcore channel?” Jaskier was a bit surprised. He wasn’t a celebrity by any stretch, but perhaps Dijkstra had played him up a bit when he had made the reservations. “My thanks. This is Priscilla and Zoltan who make it all happen. And you are the manager?”

“Manager, owner I guess? Vesemir.”

“Lambert and Vesemir?” Jaskier beamed a bit in pleasure. “Oh now that is a nice touch. A really nice touch. Priscilla, isn’t it brilliant?”

“Sure?”

“The owners are using the names of some of last people of Kaer Morhen, the ones that disappeared. It is actually quite a good marketing ploy. The last and the first now again. Love it, we can definitely play with that. Especially if there is a Geralt. Tell me you have a Geralt. Please have a white wolf.”

“He was anxious for your arrival, Ciri is keeping him busy in the back, Eskel is in the kitchens prepping some snacks for the guests.”

“Ciri?” Jaskier had that deja vu again. “I am sorry, I don’t remember a Ciri and I know everything about Kaer Morhen.”

“Do you?”

“He does,” Zoltan sounded so long suffering. “You said snacks?”

“I did, they’ll be in the main lounge, which we’ve done a fair job on, if I do say so myself.” Vesemir led them into the keep, and Priscilla almost started weeping.

“The tapestries,” she moaned.

“Kept in perfect storage,” Vesemir said proudly, “My suggestion. They always were my favourite.”

Jaskier found that sentence a bit odd, but ignored it. He saw a man with a heavily scarred face wheeling out a tray loaded with sandwiches and other snacks. Zoltan headed over to that and honestly he would have too because it looked delicious, but Vesemir was guiding him through and out the opposite end of the main hall. There was so much to look at. Ramparts and buildings, some in good repair, a lot needing work. There were stables with horses and four or so people watching a man and a teenager sword fight. They both had white hair, and moved seamlessly against each other, and it wasn’t just playing with swords like actors on a stage. They knew what they were doing.

Jaskier moved closer and the man spun and stumbled to a stop when he saw Jaskier.

It was deja vu all over again.

Jaskier swayed a bit. He had never thought he’d see him again. Which was an absurd thought because he had never seen the man before. The man tossed his sword to the girl, who caught it with only a bit of a fumble. He came closer, long hair pulled back, yellow eyes. Soft lips, thick shoulders. For a moment Jaskier was sure he knew what they felt like under his hands, under his teeth.

He had always had a vivid imagination when faced with attractive men. “That was impressive. I’m Jaskier. Let me guess…Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf?”

“I am,” he held out his hand. When Jaskier took it, he swore he knew all the scars and nicks on it. “It is very good to see you.”

“You too,” Jaskier thought that was a bit intense, but he was a musician some days so he understood intense. “The place looks incredible. But I have a question? Isn’t there supposed to be a tower over there?” 

He realized he had dreamed of a tower and a man going in it, wanting to beg the man to stay. The man never did.

“It was too structurally and temporally unsound,” Geralt explained. “The museum was horrified, but it was completely unsafe. We razed it to the ground. No time mistakes again.”

“Time?” that was weird.

“Is this him?” the girl was coming over. “Hello, I’m Ciri. Geralt never shut up about you. Was terrified it wouldn’t work. And then it did! But he had to wait until you were coming. And here you are.”

Oh, so they were all a little looney. But he thought of his parents and their life study of history. People who restored medieval keeps, tended to be the looney sort. He could work with that. “Here I am,” Jaskier agreed.

“We have a music room for you,” she said. “Geralt has worked so hard on it.”

“For me?” Jaskier was thoroughly lost. “Why?”

“Because I rather like your songs,” Geralt said.

Jaskier stared at him. He really was a dead ringer for all the songs and stories of the white wolf. And the way he was looking at Jaskier. He had dreamed of that look. “Is your name really Geralt?”

“It is,” Geralt reassured. “I want, I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“For the week we are staying, I think I will be.”

Geralt smiled. “I am hoping that by the end of the week, you’ll realize that you never want to leave.”

Jaskier was lost in his eyes. The best deja vu. The best dream. “I hope that too,” he found himself agreeing. “Music room, you said.”

“Come on, let me show you,” Geralt’s fingers brushed the hair off his face. “Not going to go anywhere this time. I promise.”

“I don’t understand, but thank you?” Jaskier felt that was the right thing to say.

“You’re welcome. Later maybe we can go for a walk in the hills, I’ll take your photo in perfect light, and tell you tales of once upon a time.”

“No going back in the tower,” Jaskier found himself saying.

“Nope, no tower,” Geralt grinned. “And we have a policy, no smart cars. And all the coffee you could ever even imagine wanting.”

“I can imagine an awful lot of wanting,” Jaskier said.

“I’ll meet all your wants,” Geralt swore.

It was completely insane, but Jaskier utterly believed those words. He took the hand Geralt offered and let himself be guided to the music room, and was already wondering if their stay could be extended by a week.

And then he decided to extend it indefinitely.


End file.
